


Underestimation

by Sandshoes (TemporaryUniverse)



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: (not main character), Bad Parenting, Cause his childhood sucks, Dialogue Heavy, Discussion of Rape, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Reid gets mad, Rossi is a good person, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 21:45:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11929896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TemporaryUniverse/pseuds/Sandshoes
Summary: He had never, ever told anyone the story before and he hoped he would never have to. In fact, he had all but forgotten it himself, until now. The case they were on had dredged up old memories, the ones he had long ago locked away into the deepest recesses of his mind.First installment of Underestimation





	Underestimation

**Author's Note:**

> Um...  
> Yeah. I'm such a terrible person.
> 
> This work is unbetaed. Excuse any errors/typos.

“You disgusting son of a bitch. You sold your own son into slavery. He trusted you, you were his father and you sold him. You’re despicable,” He snapped. The man protested angrily, but he refused to back down, “Shut up. Did you think I was done? Do you know what James was feeling when they raped him over and over again? He was scared, and he was in pain, and he was wondering where his Daddy was and why he wasn’t coming to save him. He was fifteen, you bastard, and you let that happen. You let them beat him and drug him into submission so that they could make money off his living hell and you could pay off your debts.  
  
“Have you ever been raped, Mr. Keenan? No? Well, I can tell you exactly what it feels like, I have interviewed hundreds of sexual assault victims, heard each one tell me the graphic details with these blank looks on their faces because they had to lock away their emotions in order to get through the first sentence without having a panic attack. It hurts, Mr. Keenan, like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You have no idea what it’s like to be held down by a man twice your size and forcibly penetrated just for some sick fuck’s idea of a good time. Rape is the worst form of torture, especially for someone as young as your son, and you let it happen to him, _you_ did that.  
  
“And you know what the worst part is? Each time one man finished fucking your son and left, another came in to begin that torture again. James was in so much pain that he took his own life, but you, you took away his childhood, you took away his innocence, and you took away his chance of ever knowing what it feels like to be loved, all because you were a selfish, neglectful man who doesn’t deserve to be called a father.” John Keenan was left with his mouth gaping open in a perfect imitation of a fish. Similarly, the rest of the audience was also speechless, though most of them were hiding it better. Reid’s chest was heaving with suppressed emotion. His knuckles were paper white from how tightly his fists were clenched and his fingernails were digging little half-moon trenches into his palms. His shoulders were shaking and his eyes were bright with unshed tears. Rossi had never seen the kid like this before, it was scary.  
  
Another moment passed, Reid and John glaring at each other, and then the younger spun around and stalked off. Rossi heard a door slam somewhere in the building, shattering the frozen scene as everyone scattered, time resuming its natural passage, unaffected by the monumental occurrences that had just taken place. Rossi exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Then he went to find the distraught Reid.  
  
******  
  
It didn’t take very long to find the kid bent over a trash can in a vacant office. Rossi knocked on the door, but entered without waiting for a reply. He would have come in even if Reid had said no. For a genius, he wasn’t always the best at knowing when he needed help.  
  
“Spencer?” The kid scuttled like a frightened rabbit to a corner of the room behind a couch, eyes wide and unfocused, arms automatically curling around his torso and knees pulled up tight to his chest. Rossi wasn’t deterred, he moved slowly forward, keeping his posture calm and non-threatening. He was careful sitting down as well, so that he wasn’t towering over Reid. “Hey, kiddo, it’s okay. It’s just me, just Dave. Wherever you think you are in that big head of yours, I can promise you that you aren’t really there and that you’re safe.” Reid was trembling, his skin pale and clammy with sweat. His gaze was still distant, clearing showing his pain and suffering.  
  
The boy flinched violently when Rossi reached out and gently took one of his hands, but it didn’t dissuade the senior agent from rubbing light circles on the cold skin with his thumb. He'd had a lot of experience with panic attacks and the symptoms of PTSD, the only thing new here was the person he was trying to comfort. It took a few tense minutes before the contact began to bring Reid back to reality. Finally, Reid appeared to see the older profiler clearly. Rossi stayed quiet, giving him space and waiting for him to make the first move. The one thing he didn't do was let go of Reid's hand.  
  
“Hey.” His voice cracked and he grimaced at the acrid taste of vomit in his mouth. When Rossi stood, the absence of the other man beside him was equal parts relieving and anxiety-inducing. Reid’s impulse was to get as far away as possible and not let anyone near him because what if they touched him or hurt him? But he couldn’t help but find the presence comforting. Thankfully, Rossi was quick, having simply gone to get a glass of water. Reid took it gratefully and the cold liquid had never tasted so good. He washed his mouth and throat clean of bile and coffee. Rossi slid down the wall next to him, grimacing as his knees cracked, close enough for Reid to feel his body heat, but not touching. The pair sat in silence, Reid wondering how, or even if, he should tell his colleague the thoughts racing through his brain.  
  
“You don't have to, but if you want to talk, I'm more than willing to lend an ear. It might help,” Rossi suggested unexpectedly. He kept his voice soft and soothing, it was the same one he used when speaking with victims. Reid hated it. He hated that he was being thought of as a victim, but he wanted it because it meant that someone cared. No one had ever cared before.  
  
Reid licked his lips, trying to moisten them. He had never, ever told anyone the story before and he hoped he would never have to. In fact, he had all but forgotten it himself, until now. The case they were on had dredged up old memories, the ones he had long ago locked away into the deepest recesses of his mind. That was how he coped, by forgetting, pretending that it never existed, succeeding in making it less real. But it wasn't truly gone, how could it be, with his eidetic memory? No, instead all the horror and fear and fucking flawlessly detailed _memories_ were buried, stored in a titanium-strength coffin beneath all the facts and figures that filled his head. Safe and perfectly preserved. So protected that not even he could open it.  
  
Then, of course, this damned _case_ came along, took a shovel to his brain, dug the casket up and smashed it to pieces. Apparently, he hadn't buried it under enough other shit. Now that the memories had been uncovered, he couldn't seem to shove them back into their cage. Rossi was right, talking about it would help, would soothe the reignited hurt and terror within him. But he didn't _want_ to, and yet, he had to, so that his secret wouldn't destroy him from the inside out.  
  
The question was whether he could tell Rossi or not. He could feel the older man appraising him. Reid knew that he was being profiled and tentatively let down his defenses. Rossi was intelligent, he could build an idea of what had happened to Reid, in fact, he probably already had just from Reid’s earlier outburst at John Keenan, but he wouldn't know the details. Reid inhaled shakily to calm his nerves and give himself a moment to think. He looked up, he expected to see pity and derision on the face of the man he greatly respected, but instead he was met with sympathy, concern, and an earnest openness. It was this entirely candid expression that persuaded him.  
  
******  
  
_It wasn't the first time William Reid had left his family’s house with a suitcase in his hand, not even close, but it was certainly his last. He forced himself to keep his eyes straight ahead, doing otherwise would mean seeing the betrayed expression on his son’s face. He could picture the heart-wrenching scene he had just turned his back on clearly. Spencer standing helplessly in the doorway, deep hazel eyes huge and wet behind the wire frames of his glasses. He would know what was happening, but William knew that his genius boy had no clue as to_ why _, even with his gifted mind. Diana watching him sadly, her hands resting lightly her son’s shoulders, protecting him. She was disappointed with William, hell, he was disappointed with himself, but it was for the best. Even if it hurt for everyone involved. William forced himself not to look back as he tore apart his small family. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest and his eyes were stinging. It was for the best._  
  
******  
  
Rossi helped him stand and sit on the couch instead of the floor. After making sure that Reid was comfortable, he took a minute to go get coffee for the two of them. He loaded Reid’s with an obscene amount of sugar, only a spoonful in his own, and took a moment to get his thoughts organized and check his phone for an update from the rest of the team.  
  
There was nothing yet, the team had headed out less than thirty minutes ago to find their primary Unsub. Rossi grimaced as he thought about the case. They had been called in by the Salem Chief of Police to assist in the investigation of several missing Massachusetts teenagers and stumbled upon a massive child trafficking ring. It was only after they had located their suspect, Leon Crawford, the head of the organization and one of Salem PD’s finest, that Garcia had uncovered a piece of the puzzle they hadn’t even known was missing. The parents of each of the stolen children had made a deal with Crawford and exchanged their sons and daughters to keep themselves out of jail, or even just for some quick cash.  
  
“Well, none of them’ll win the ‘Best Parent Award’ anytime soon,” Rossi scoffed to himself. Having lost a child of his own, the cruelty and neglect of some parents astounded him. And, Reid…  
  
He glanced back at the young man huddled on the couch, looking impossibly small considering his usual stature. Spencer had been through far too much in his lifetime, more than the sweet, selfless kid deserved. Hell, more than anyone probably deserved.  
  
The little niggling in the back of his brain grew more persistent, but he pushed it aside. Reid’s reaction to Mr. Keenan earlier had been unexpected, and Rossi was having trouble turning off his inner profiler. Deciding he had spent enough time stalling, the senior agent made his way back to the couch, holding out the second mug to Reid.  
  
Reid took the steaming cup and sipped carefully at it. “I’m assuming you’ve already profiled the heck out of this, then?” He asked softly, staring down into the murky caramel-colored surface of his coffee.  
  
Rossi snorted, “I’m trying to adhere to the moratorium on inter-team profiling.”  
  
“No one ever pays much attention to that anyway, Rossi. It’s an automatic thing for us,” Reid rebuked him. He glanced over at Rossi, the corner of his lip twitching up and the older man cheered internally.  
  
“I told you, I’ve been trying very hard to stop myself. I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. I’d rather hear it from you, kiddo.”  
  
“And if I don’t want to tell you?” Those few words were filled with more skepticism than Rossi had ever heard. Reid didn’t believe anyone would want to listen to what he had to say. Rossi blinked.  
  
“Then I’ll do my best to let it go,” He replied calmly, making eye contact with Reid to convey his sincerity. The silence stretched between them, only to be broken by a small nod from Reid.  
  
******  
  
_He was ten and had just started high school. He'd probably be spending the next two years here, if he planned it right. He wasn't sure how he would manage it given his first day on the campus. Spencer sighed and dabbed more of the concealer over the dark bruise on his cheek. The make-up wouldn’t completely hide the discoloration or the swelling of his black eye, but it would make it less noticeable. His number one rule was ‘Don’t draw attention to yourself’. Sometimes, it worked._  
  
******  
  
“My dad left when I was ten. I think that’s common knowledge at this point. But, what no one ever stops to think about, is how a ten-year-old managed to take care of his sick mother and payed the bills. Yes, I’m a genius, but I couldn’t work. I had to make sure that Social Services wouldn’t come knocking on our door. I had to make sure mom was fed, and dressed, and took her medication. I had to _buy_ her meds. I had to get groceries, and pay the mortgage, and file taxes. Sure, I was smart, I could figure things out, but I was also a minor, and there was a lot I couldn’t do without a parent.  
  
“About three months after dad left, we weren’t doing great. He still sent alimony and child-support checks, the problem was, I couldn’t cash them. Mom hadn’t had a good day in weeks. We were running low on funds. And then, one of the bullies at school broke my arm.”  
  
******  
  
_Much later, Spencer wasn’t quite so young. Neither was he naïve. He knew the world could be a savage, unforgiving place. He knew that monsters were real, that they didn’t hide under beds and in closets (in fact, dusty under-beds and dark closets were good places to escape for a scared boy), and that they came in many shapes and sizes. Adult, child, it didn’t matter. They could all hurt him. He had a new first rule now. ‘Don’t expect people to help you.’_  
  
******  
  
“I couldn’t pay the hospital bills. I had no idea what to do, but then Uncle Daniel came to visit one day. He was my mom’s brother, and had decided to move to Vegas. When he found out that Dad left, he offered to stay with us, help take care of me and Mom. He even dealt with the hospital bills for me. Everything was fine for a while, better actually. I didn't have to worry as much about Mom, or paying for her medication and groceries. When the other kids at school bullied me, Uncle Dan was there, he’d make me feel better, and sometimes he’d buy me ice cream. He was more of a dad than my own father.  
  
“After about a month, I think, he started coming into my room at night. At first, he would just touch me. Then he started to make me jerk him off, and eventually he forced me to perform fellatio. I fought him, every single time, I tried as hard as I could to make him stop, but he never...” Reid choked on a dry sob. Feeling queasy with horror, Rossi waited patiently as the younger man composed himself. He nodded encouragingly when Reid looked to him for assurance to continue. The kid needed to get this out, and to have someone listen without judgment.  
  
“One day, my mom…she had a really bad episode. Bad enough that I had to take her to the hospital. They admitted her to the psych ward overnight and Uncle Dan was the one to take me home.”  
  
*******  
  
_In just one month, his childhood had turned into a special kind of hell. It was easy to not say anything to the teachers at school, to pretend that he was fine. He had always stayed in the background anyway. Spencer knew very well how to hide his pain, and the bruises that Uncle Dan left could be covered up with his clothes. There was too much to lose if someone found out about what Uncle Dan was doing to him. Without his uncle, he and Mom wouldn’t be able to survive. Spencer would be in foster care and Mom would end up in some state-run mental facility. No matter what, he could not let that happen._  
  
******  
  
“That night, when Uncle Dan came up to my room and demanded I take off my pants, I refused. H-he threw me against the wall and t-told me that if I ever said ‘no’ to him again, he would ma-make sure that Mom would s-stay in that hospital and I would never see her again. Then he took his belt off and beat me with it, and r-raped me.” The last words were spoken quietly enough that Rossi could barely hear them. Reid drew in a huge, shaky breath. There. He admitted it. Some of the weight lifted off his shoulders.  
  
“The next day, he put a lock on my door, so he could lock me in my room. The only time he let me out of that room for a week was to use the bathroom. When he brought Mom home, she was on a lot of medication and slept almost all the time. Uncle Dan could do whatever he wanted to me and he did. He didn’t even wait until night anymore.  
  
“When I went back to school, he gave me rules. I couldn’t tell anyone, obviously. I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere other than school. And I was to do whatever he told me to as soon as he told me to. I was in hell, Rossi, and I didn’t think it could get any worse, but then he started bringing his friends around for poker games.” For the first time, Reid made eye contact with the senior agent, and Rossi could see the depth of his pain.  
  
“One time he lost. Big. He’d bet more than he actually had, so instead of money, he used me. From then on, ten minutes alone with me was worth a hundred bucks.” Reid stopped talking then, emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He had never told anyone this story before, preferring to stick to the philosophy of ‘if he didn't say it, it didn't happen’. Despite his inner turmoil, he could see that he had stunned Rossi.  
  
“Spencer…” Sure enough, Rossi was speechless. This was so much worse than he had imagined when he had sat down to talk to Reid. It was easy to understand, now, why certain aspects of the case had set Reid off. At that moment he realized just how much he had underestimated the kid. When he regained his voice, he expected to comfort the younger agent, or give his sympathy. What came out instead was: “I'm going to fucking kill that bastard.”  
  
Reid laughed hollowly. “You’re about fifteen years too late for that, Rossi,” he said, plunking his empty mug on the side table. The older man looked at him quizzically. “Uncle Daniel is dead. A year and a half after he moved in with us. Car accident.” He spat out the last two words like venom, his contempt and bitterness evident. Silence reigned as Rossi tried to process everything he had been told.  
  
******  
  
_Spencer had just gotten his mother medicated and settled down for the night when there was a loud rapping on the front door. The twelve-year-old frowned, quickly going through a list of people that could possibly be knocking on his door at 9 o’clock in the evening, but came up blank. A curious squint through the peephole revealed the visitor to be a police officer. Spencer forgot to breathe. The news that his drunk uncle had been in a fatal car crash left him reeling. By the time the officer left, Spencer was numb from the flood of both good and bad emotions overwhelming him. Relief, bitterness, uncertainty, euphoria, anger, fear. He ran to the only place in the world where he was truly safe. His mom woke briefly, puzzled when he buried his sobbing self in her arms. With the unconditional love only a mother can give, she soothed her son to sleep, even though in the morning she remembered nothing._  
  
******  
  
The senior agent sighed and set his coffee down. “I’m sorry, Spencer. What happened to you is the sort of thing no one should have to go through.” Reid didn’t reply, there wasn’t much he could say. A bit hesitantly, unsure of how it would go over, Rossi spread his arms. “Come here,” he urged. Reid stared at him like a lost puppy before tentatively wriggling closer. He tensed when Rossi’s arms wrapped around him, but quickly gave in to the warmth and support the hug offered.  
  
It was like a dam broke, then, the tears came pouring out. Tears of grief and pain, but also relief flooded Reid, making him sob brokenly into Rossi’s shirt. “Shh, just let it all out, kiddo. I’ve got you,” Rossi soothed, wondering when the last time was that Reid had been held like this. He marveled at just how strong the younger man was, if not in body than in soul and mind. “How the hell are you still alive?” He muttered into Reid’s tangled hair.  
  
Eventually, the tears subsided, leaving Reid snotty-nosed and hiccuping. Still, Rossi held him until the genius pulled away on his own. A box of tissues was passed over and Reid cleaned himself up as best he could.  
  
“You won’t tell the others about this?” He asked quietly, feeling drained from the release of emotions.  
  
“Not if you don’t want me to. But, Spencer?” Rossi waited until the younger man looked up at him, “I want you to know that you can tell me anything. I’ll always listen, no judgment.”  
  
Reid could see that Rossi was completely sincere, and, astonishingly, that the senior agent actually cared about him, in a way few people in his life ever had. He was filled with a sense of peace and affection towards the man which nearly brought on another wave of crying. “Thanks, Dave,” he said, the words coming out choked with emotion.  
  
“Of course, kiddo. Now give me another hug.” Reid gladly complied.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably gonna end up as one of those 5+1 stories. I have plans for the +1, and at least one of the others, but I need input from you guys. What would you like to see? Would you rather each story be connected? Or have completely separate plots?


End file.
